- We have little intelligence information on the KTO zone, we fly, we fly and we don’t know, there are bandits or special forces under us (which, given our current legal background, as it were, more cultured to say, well, let's say ... monopenisual ...)?
- Fuck you information? - the chief of staff of grouping was indignant. - And so you will achieve the planned hell planes, and once you find out that there are bandits in the area, you will have all the screws turned back to the masonry station ... Well, okay, chief of intelligence, provide our winged brothers with information.
HP puzzled this problem spetsnazovskogo chief, he, in turn, puzzled the court Khankalinsky detachment, which was located just next to the air base. But I forgot, however, the chief special forces officer, that the task should be set to a specific person, and not to transfer it to the battalion commander through a half-witted lieutenant who was on duty at the TsBU that night. Leteha lost all night at Wolfstein, and by morning he had forgotten everything. Even when changing his attire, he tried to introduce himself as an agent Blazkovich, for which he was ridiculed by another in exactly the same way that Volfstein did not care. The new person on duty stepped in, sat down at the computer of the person on duty at the Central Bank of Ukraine, and launched “Kazakov”.
Closer to 11 in the morning, a lieutenant colonel in flight uniform appeared at the checkpoint of the squadron, in flight form, strenuously pretending to be the chief of intelligence of the airbase. He trampled on the checkpoint and tried to penetrate the territory of the detachment, but he was caught and caught vigilant of the real. After half an hour of admonitions and explanations, the daily officer realized that a certain pilot had arrived, but he did not understand the day-to-day Yakut nationality.
“Tell your intelligence chief that the pilots arrived for the report,” he begged the soldier.
“Yeah,” said the man of the day, and, exhausted from the heat, went under the fungus to the telephone.
Fifteen minutes, gusto, yawning, he twisted the handle. While the pen was spinning, the information that needed to be brought to the duty officer completely disappeared from my head. Finally, he got through, the Cossacks had a riot at the attendant, so the attendant was nervous a little.
- Well, what are those deer? - he asked the pipe
The Yakut soldier remembered the deer and dreamed, smiled.
- Fuck, well, what the fuck! - the person on duty shouted in a pipe.
- Aaaa, comrade lieutenant, then the pilots came for vodka, - blurted the orderly.
- What the fuck vodka? Pilots? They fucking alcohol a little something? - the attendant boiled. - Send him to dick, we do not have vodka.
He shrugged and moved toward the reconnaissance pilot.
“No,” he said, “they probably sold everything.”
The distraught pilot opened his mouth and decided to come back later. Later, the pilot nevertheless achieved some results, the orderly phoned the duty officer, who, in turn, called the beginning. the opera of the detachment, having decided, once the pilots came for vodka and for some reason to the chief of intelligence of the detachment, then the beginning. operas will sort this out somehow. An unshaven nachoper came, dressed, despite the heat, in a camouflage ShPS (special-purpose fagot cap) and in magnificent TTSs (underpants tank blue).
Upon learning that the pilots had arrived and even for vodka, the captain of the beginning. the operas did not go ahead, but cautiously, scouting, however, through the medium of day-time, I found out that the reconnaissance pilot had allegedly arrived with the permission of the head of the intelligence group.
- Hey, you! - thought early. Oper, - it’s unclean, I’ll call you right now at the higher headquarters, to your guide and find out what these things are.
Having phoned to the special operations officer on duty, the noper cautiously inquired as to whether there were any orders to issue vodka to the pilots.
Ofigeevshiy on duty in the department, as they say in the common people "did not cut the headlights", and also very carefully otmazalsya, they say, I started the current-current, right now there will be a chef, ask him.
Captain beg. the operas at the other end of the Zasov apparatus sanely reasoned that the thread stretches even higher further, and decided that it was necessary to report to his direct chief, or to be more precise, to the chief of staff. NS pumped the "triceps" in the rocking chair, having finished the series, he listened to the beginning. the opera and, cursing, trudged to ring the head of the special forces unit. The chief specialist was just sitting in the office and received reports from subordinate units. And then here, the pilots came to the spetsnaz detachment, they demand vodka and they say that the head of the reconnaissance group allowed them to take vodka from the special forces.
- You know what, buddy, let the battalion commander better call back on this issue to the intelligence chief himself, as I understand it, vodka is a personal matter, if you have an extra, give it, but a little, I cannot order you ...
The reconnaissance pilot, standing at the checkpoint of the detachment, spat on everything and went to drink diluted alcohol. The Spetsnaz battalion commander, having learned that he had to call about the Nru pilots who had gone bad, immediately grabbed the pipe, phoned the Chief and, indignantly, painted and colorfully painted the crowds of distraught pilots besieging the checkpoint of the special forces unit, demanding, pleading and begging them to give them vodka, hiding behind the name of the head of intelligence ...
The chief of intelligence went wild and snarled into the phone:
- VODKA PILOTS DO NOT GIVE !!!!!
After that, I got through to the commander of the air base and expressed everything that he thought about the pilots and their morals.
In the evening, at the airbase, everyone who got drunk in the eyes of the commander was slapped by a storkman, including a reconnaissance pilot who drank in diluted alcohol, and the strict commander told him:
“You, Lieutenant Colonel, instead of eating a Khanka, would take a reconnaissance report from the special forces.”
In the morning a half-sober lieutenant colonel stood at the checkpoint of the detachment at eight o'clock.
The last Yakut soldier, who had not yet changed, saw the pilot, twisted the handle of the phone:
- Comrade Lieutenant, again, the pilots for vodka came.